


Fevered Dreams

by Georgethecat



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Warging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 16:01:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11695086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Georgethecat/pseuds/Georgethecat
Summary: While traveling to Dragonstone, Jon needs a piece of home to fall asleep. Post 7.02 and pre 7.03.





	Fevered Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> This was a gift for the @jonsaexchange on Tumblr! Just a re-post.

It felt as though they had been on the ship forever. Jon knew it had barely been a moon’s turn, but his heart ached for home. 

He had everything he wanted and he’d left it in the North. There was no time for what he truly wanted; winter was here whether he wanted it or not. He’d seen it at Hardhome. And in spite of the dragon queen’s arrogant request to bend the knee, he travelled to make an alliance. And gather materials — dragon glass — to fight the White Walkers. Dragons certainly wouldn’t hurt, either, he thought as he rolled over and over again in his bunk. 

Jon and Davos shared a room in the ship. Jon preferred to be frugal, and had ensured Sansa would have enough to cover the expenses of Winterfell and any needs the townsfolk of Wintertown might have. Davos, however, either practiced reading well into the night, or snored louder than Old Nan. 

Jon had never been this far south. The warmth wasn’t what he thought it would be, either. It was humid and sticky. The nights were the worst: even when he lived with the Wildlings and slept under furs outdoors, he’d slept peacefully. Hell, he would have given up the heat for the cold hard floor at Castle Black. It wasn’t simply the sleeping conditions: His sleep as he entered the South was fitful and broken. When he did manage to sleep, his dreams were strange. 

He lie there for hours, in naught but his breeches and barely a thin sheet over his body. He wiped sweat off the back of his neck and listened as Davos blew out his candle. Jon could hear Davos shifting in bed as he settled down for the night. When he was quite certain that Davos’ breathing had slowed, he pulled a beautiful blue handkerchief from its place tied to his wrist. It no longer held the scent of its owner, but Jon brought it to his lips all the same. 

“I’ll not leave you here with that monster,” he had practically growled. Sansa’s bright blue eyes revealed a ferocity he had never thought he would see in such a beautiful, delicate lady. 

“He has more to fear from me than you know.” 

He remembered she had kissed his cheek good-bye. In the moment, he could not feel anything other than her soft lips on his rough, bearded skin and it was a few minutes after she had turned and walked away that he finally realized he still held something in his hand: a blue handkerchief with two wolves neatly stitched on to it. The wolves, both of equal size, faced one another. Had she pressed it into his hand or had he stolen it from her? 

As he lie in his bunk, he could drew the handkerchief up to his nose. It had once smelled of lemons and lavender. Now it mostly smelled of his sweat, and yet, something about it still smelled of home. He closed his eyes and breathed in, and in and out until he felt his body relaxing and sleep taking over. 

That night he dreamt he was seeing through red eyes, a wolf’s eyes. When he opened his eyes, familiar sights surrounded him. This was not just any wolf’s eyes he was seeing through… these were Ghost’s eyes. He could feel it in his bones as he padded his way through Winterfell’s training yards. Instinctively, he knew that someone was walking beside him, as the swish of a navy blue skirt touched his leg. 

“The people of Wintertown will need protection throughout the Long Night, but we will also need their fighting masses. Ensure there are both men and women ready to fight and those who can make the weapons we need,” he heard the Lady of Winterfell say. “Brienne, I will be retiring for the evening. Please send the maester to see me to discuss rations over dinner. We will take dinner in my solar.”

He was silent as he followed just a footstep behind her. The people of Winterfell, servant and highborn guests, all nodded or smiled pleasantly as he and Sansa passed by them. He followed her to her room, the Lord’s Chamber, where he lie down by the fire. He watched as she darned thick underclothes, and, later, passed in and out of sleep as she ate dinner and went over the ledgers with the maester. When Ghost woke, a large leg of lamb had been placed in a bowl for him. He wolfed it down, barely taking the time to truly savour the taste of the flesh. 

Sansa was no longer in the room when he finished eating and so he sniffed the air to catch her scent. She was not far, in fact, just in the adjacent room, in the bath. He could hear her singing as he trotted towards her. 

“You are never far, my friend. Thank you,” Sansa said as her wet hand patted the top of his head. He preened into her fingers and lifted his nose in the air. That was when he could smell another scent… a different human. A masculine scent, and one in obvious ardour. He took a step in front of Sansa’s bath tub and his hackles began to raise. He could smell the other male. The little one, the one that did not belong in the pack. He growled and bared his teeth. It made Sansa stand up quickly and cover herself with a linen. 

“Who’s there?” she asked. No one answered. Ghost sniffed the air again and the scent of the other male seemed to be fading. He stood in that same spot, red eyes staring off into the distance as Sansa changed into her yellow silken nightshift and brushed her long red hair. He did not move until she climbed into her bed. He padded his way over to the bed and waited at the opposite side until Sansa had sunken in and her breathing slowed. The massive white direwolf easily jumped on to the bed in the space beside Sansa. His red eyes remained open until he felt Sansa’s soft fingers kneading through his fur. 

“I miss him, too,” she said quietly. When Ghost sensed her breathing slow, then did he close his eyes and not a moment before. 

Halfway across the world, Jon’s own eyes fluttered rapidly. The handkerchief fell from his grasp as he too succumbed to sleep.


End file.
